‘And you, Elizabeth,’ he said smoothly.
Her PA let out a small ripple of laughter that seemed to surprise even herself. ‘Is there anything else you need from me?’
To keep your head on, Zara wanted to reply but, hell, who was she to talk? ‘No, that’s great, thank you.’
She turned to face him. ‘I’ll go through the shortlist and send it on now. Please tell Julia I look forward to hearing from her.’
His eyes wavered over her face, working to understand her shift in mood, she was sure. ‘And as for tomorrow?’
She looked to EJ briefly, not wanting to give the woman any more ammunition. She already sensed the grilling that was coming. ‘Let’s discuss that later.’
He nodded. ‘I’ll send you my number.’
‘Great.’
Like hell it was great.
She had to stop herself from saying, You can go, but her eyes must have done the job for her as he said, ‘I’ll leave you ladies to it, then.’
With that he turned and walked away, relief flooding her even as her eyes feasted on his seriously sexy exiting rear. Confusion, frustration, fear—they all swamped her and she fisted her hands, forcing herself to turn and head for the sanctity of her office.
She was about to swing her door closed when EJ’s hand hit the frame. ‘What the actual fuck, Zara?’
She said it under her breath so that the outer office couldn’t hear but the force of her reaction was clear and Zara turned to her, baffled. ‘What?’
‘I can’t believe you kept it from me,’ she said, wide-eyed.
‘Kept what?’
‘His chuffing identity!’
‘His identity?’ Zara frowned, dropping her things onto her desk and rolling her head on her shoulders. Her lack of sleep the previous night was catching up with her, and muscles she hadn’t known she possessed were starting to ache like crazy.
‘You don’t know who he is, do you?’
She looked to EJ’s narrowed gaze and gave a tired laugh. ‘Who he is? Lord, you make him sound infamous.’ And then she remembered: his reference to publicity, his sister’s mention of the press, the growing sense that he wasn’t just anyone...
‘You really don’t know, do you?’ EJ let go of a flustered breath and raced back to her desk, pulling out her magazine stash and slipping the one from the top—her most recent, Zara would guess. She strode back towards her, swinging the door closed as she went.
‘He’s not just any Daniel,’ she blurted, slapping the well-known gossip mag onto Zara’s desk and pinning its cover man in place with an over-zealous finger. ‘He’s the Daniel Lazenby.’
* * *
‘Right, what did you say?’
Daniel slammed the car door closed and pinned his sister with a glare.
She looked to him, blinked and then turned to the window on a small sigh. ‘Nothing of substance.’
‘Nothing of substance?’ He shook his head in disbelief. ‘She couldn’t get me out of there quick enough.’
‘I just gave her some advice.’ Her eyes came back to him and the cloud-like quality to her amber gaze dampened his anger. ‘Woman to woman.’
He frowned. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘That I told her she should be careful around you.’
He thrust his fingers through his hair with a frustrated breath.
There’s no coming back from such a damning declaration, not when it comes from your very own sister.
‘Kristus, Julia, it’s great to know you have such a high opinion of me.’
Her eyes widened. ‘Really, you want to go there?’
They fixed one another silently, the sound of the ignition filling the cabin and their bodies rocking softly as the car pulled away from the kerb.
Hell, she’s right. What can you say to that? Deny her words of caution? Act like they’re unfounded?
Still, he should have been given the opportunity to speak to Zara first.
And say what, exactly? Hey, I’m a publicly proclaimed and self-confessed playboy whose family notoriety means you should stay the fuck away, but fancy a repeat?
‘No, I didn’t think you would.’ She looked away, her attention once more on the passing streets. ‘Look, she’s not like the other women you go around with, and I’m not judging you, Daniel—seriously. With parents like ours it’s no surprise you don’t want to hold down a relationship, but she’s not like that.’
‘How would you know?’
‘Because we’ve talked, our history with men is not too dissimilar and, I’m telling you, she’s relationship material and you...you’re still too busy avoiding anything close to a relationship, playing the role Dad did to the press and pissing your mum the hell off. You have no idea what’s best for you.’
‘I don’t know what you mean.’ He did, but he was in no mood to discuss his dear old parents. Not when his mind was on more important things—like getting Zara back on side.
Slowly, she turned to face him. ‘Yes, you do. And that image you paint, the whole heartless playboy act, it’ll catch up with you eventually. It’ll be you that suffers.’
Something in her words caught at him. Her honesty, her emotion, her love. Whatever it was it had him on edge. ‘You don’t need to stress over me. I’m a big boy, I can take care of myself.’
‘I don’t doubt it, but while you’re playing at being the big boy, you can stay away from her.’
‘I can’t. I’m helping you house-hunt.’
‘Not any more.’
He swallowed heavily. ‘Come on, Julia, don’t let this get in the way of finding you the home you deserve.’
‘Women seem to lose their judgement when they’re around you and I won’t have that on my conscience,’ she said forcibly. ‘You’re off the hunt.’
Kristus. Now what...?
‘Okay,’ he said eventually, a new plan starting to form that wouldn’t put his sister in the middle. ‘I’ll back out of the legwork, so long as you’ll still consider my financial assistance.’
‘You will?’ She didn’t look convinced and he couldn’t really blame her with the ideas now taking shape.
‘Yes, consider yourself in the clear.’
She beamed then, leaning in to peck him on the cheek. ‘One day, you’ll grow up and realise a relationship is what you need too, but until you do, I’m having no involvement in finding you a match.’
‘Such a thoughtful sister, aren’t you?’ he teased, mentally rejecting her suggestion of what he needed...and then the doubt set in. Hadn’t he already spent enough time debating their ‘just sex’ status? Was he changing? Was he wanting more?
Unease settled in the pit of his stomach, as images of his childhood, his parents entwined with others, swirled in his mind. The goading from the press, the public and now his mother’s media-hyped and utterly false marriage... His jaw pulsed, his stomach twisted.
Yeah, you want a relationship like a goddamn hole in the head.
He shook it all off, focusing on what he did know, what felt right.
Zara. In my bed.
He wasn’t ready to let her go. Not yet. He would be at some point, of course he would, but right now...
CHAPTER SEVEN
EJ’S DISBELIEVING RANT was still spinning around her head hours later.
‘You must know who he is. His family are the Swedish version of the Kardashians—the chuffing Osbournes, even. And he’s like their black sheep: the hunky, successful, don’t-trust-him-with-your-sister kind of sheep. Come on, Zara, you must know? He’s a billionaire businessman, for Christ’s sake, and since hitting the UK the press have been all over it, all over him.’
And still Zara had stared at her blankly—dumbly, even. How could she have been so clueless?
Now everything made sense. The comments about the press, the public image... In
fact, it made more than just sense, it reaffirmed all the reasons she should have stayed the hell away and not crossed that line.
‘He’s not the kind to get serious with,’ EJ had eventually said, and then she’d given her a tentative smile, ‘but you could still have some fun.’
Like hell.
It was late, the office deserted, and she was taking advantage of the solitude to smack her head with her stupidity, quite literally, the magazine clutched in her hand making a damn fine implement.
She’d lost count of the number of times she’d read the blasted article after EJ had left it with her. And then she’d scoured the Internet for more.
She knew it couldn’t all be true, that the press would have embellished or twisted the truth to work for them, but there was never smoke without fire. And there was enough smoke to know he wasn’t a man to get involved with.
She’d known his parents to be questionable—his honesty regarding their treatment of Julia had told her that. But now they were on another plane. His father a rock star, his mother a beauty queen, their marriage infamously fraught. His father dying notoriously in the bed of another woman and his mother marrying the band manager swiftly after his death.
And then had come the TV show—a reality TV show, for fuck’s sake!
Not that he’d gone in for it. He’d famously stormed off the show a decade ago, turning his back on his mother and having nothing to do with his two brothers.
But it would appear he’d only changed the TV cameras for those of the press. Flaunting his extreme sexual antics and by all accounts following in his father’s playboy footsteps. And she couldn’t get her head round it. Couldn’t pair the man she was getting to know with the man splashed all over the media, his own mother disowning him at every turn with outspoken disgust at his behaviour. As if she had any right to judge after all she had done.
They were a mess, through and through. And here she was, getting far too close for comfort.
Her breath shuddered out of her as she turned to her computer screen and the Forbes article covering the great success that was Lazenby Enterprises. Now appreciation swelled, appreciation for the man that had done it all alone, achieved billionaire status without any of his family’s wealth. And she had to admire him for that, just as she could admire his open affection for his sister, but the rest...
Argh—she was a fool.
She tossed the magazine onto the desk, the pages sweeping open to that page, having been well-fingered by now.
She stared at the photos. A series of different women, hanging off his arm or worse, and then the main image, of him pressing some blonde up against the glass entrance to The Shard, of all places. She cringed—did the man have no decency? And then her entire body mocked her, wanting to be that woman, wanting to be the one he’d pinned up against it. Jealousy, desire, self-loathing, all manner of crap pushing her to the brink, and she rubbed at her face in frustration, shoving herself out of her seat.
Don’t let another man get to you!
It was time to go home and forget him. She’d done it with Charles. She could sure as hell do it with this brief fling. Even if he had made her climax harder than she’d ever imagined possible, numerous times over. Even if he did make her feel so desirable, so alive—stop it!
She cut the flashbacks threatening her sanity and moved to lift her mobile just as its screen lit up, a number she didn’t recognise calling.
She frowned, checking the time. Cold callers? This late? They were clearly sinking to a new all-time low.
She cut the call and started packing up, shoving her laptop into her bag and lifting her mobile to go the same way. The thing came alive again, its chassis vibrating into her palm and that same number burning into her, unease creeping up her spine. It couldn’t be...he wouldn’t...and yet, the feeling was there, as if he were in the room with her.
Don’t bloody answer it, said her sanity as her thumb hovered over the acceptance button.
She looked to the creased-up article, to his body engulfing blondie, and her anger trampled all over her sanity.
Fuck that, she thought, he deserves my wrath.
She answered the call and raised the phone to her ear, forcing calm into her tone.
There was a chance it wasn’t him.
‘Hello, Zara Anders.’
‘Zara, it’s Daniel.’
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Her brain screamed over him, his voice instantly recognisable and sending fire through her veins. And not of the kind that she needed. She was struggling to think straight, her words coming out automatically as her brain tried to articulate exactly what she wanted to throw at him. ‘What can I do for you, Mr Lazenby?’
‘Please don’t call me that.’
‘Why?’ she said simply. ‘Would you prefer one of the names the press are so willing to dish out for you? They make excellent use of alliteration.’
He gave a heavy sigh down the phone. ‘If it’s going to make you feel better...’
She cracked a little. ‘Do you honestly think me slinging their abuse at you is going to fix how I feel?’
‘It’s better than your professional front,’ he said. ‘Your anger I can deal with, you shutting me out I can’t. And you have every right to be angry. My sister shouldn’t have said what she did. It wasn’t her place.’
‘No, it was yours,’ she bit out. ‘Not that she really told me anything, she simply warned me off you.’
‘And she shouldn’t have done.’ She could hear his frustration down the phone.
Poor rich playboy, pissed off that his little sister had ruined his plans to get laid again.
She would have thrown that at him if he hadn’t added, ‘She should’ve given me chance to explain.’
‘Which bit exactly?’ she blurted. ‘Your infamous family, your business stature or the best thing of all, your renowned status as a male slut?’
‘Kristus.’
‘What? You can’t take the truth?’
‘I didn’t purposefully keep anything from you,’ he argued. ‘It’s not like I go around introducing myself based on my status in life. I mean, skit, how would that go down? Hey, my family are media whores, my business makes me billions and I like sex, fancy a fuck?’
She inhaled sharply, his words hitting more than a nerve; they hit a truckload sitting right at her apex.
‘It would’ve beaten being made a fool of,’ she said through her teeth. ‘To have known who I was getting into bed with.’
‘I get that, but you’re no fool,’ he rasped, ‘and I hate that you think I made you one.’
In the call background, she could make out a door opening, wind buzzing down the phone as he carried on. ‘I didn’t tell you because it was refreshing, meeting you, knowing you didn’t know who I was. Surely you can forgive me for relishing in that.’
She spun on her heel, her anger wobbling. She could understand that. It had to be a bitch dating when you were a walking advert for money and status. But hell, it didn’t make yo-yoing from blondie’s knickers into hers acceptable—not on any level.
‘Poor rich billionaire, can’t go on a real date because the girls are only after one thing. I feel so sad for you.’ Her voice dripped with sarcasm, her eyes dropping to the desk, to the open magazine. ‘The girls you’re used to clearly don’t mind being one of many, or the reputation that comes along with that, but I have no interest whatsoever.’
‘No interest?’ She sensed his smirk and her anger rallied, along with the defiant nub of nerve-endings that tripped out over the memory of that smile. ‘I think that’s not the whole truth.’
Bastard. He knew what he did to her.
But not any more.
He was bad news. Her instincts, the press—hell, even his own sister made that clear. She covered the receiver and let go of a pent-up breath.
Just be profess
ional and leave it at that. You still have a business relationship to maintain.
‘Now that I know who you are,’ she said, her voice surprisingly smooth, ‘I can assure you I have absolutely no interest.’
He chuckled, the sound teasing her down the phone and making her hand clutch it tighter.
Don’t turn me on, don’t...
‘Shall we put that to the test?’
What?
‘No, Mr Lazenby,’ she said, her voice pitched on panic, and something else—blasted excitement. ‘We shall not put it to the test.’
Her eyes darted around her office, too many memories triggering feelings that told her very much where that test would end up.
The background noise down the line fell away, as though he’d entered a quiet building, and he said softly, ‘You sure about that?’
A thrill trickled through her spine.
Are you sure about that?
She was in trouble. She pinned her sights on the images. The one taken just yesterday morning as the couple left the hotel together, the look of satisfaction on his face and the haughty one on blondie. ‘Positive,’ she thrust out. ‘I will associate with you as a client but that’s as far as this goes.’
‘Really?’ She heard a familiar ping down the phone—a lift? Her lift?
No, he wouldn’t be...
She strode to her office door, swinging it open and spearing the lift. ‘Where are you?’
The phone cut off and she knew the answer, even before the lit display above the lift started to announce its movement.
Oh, fuck.
* * *
Daniel pocketed his phone and ignored the weird rate of his pulse. He never got excited about anything. Hell, he got turned on, had great sex, but genuinely getting excited about something, it just wasn’t him. Not even the buzz of a successful deal could trump this.
But he was excited to see her.
Or was it actually nerves?
He had to be honest, he’d never failed in getting what he wanted before. Yes, they were on rocky ground but they worked too well together to let this get in the way. Surely she’d see that.
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